


Montreal

by vtn



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF, Justice (Band), MSTRKRFT
Genre: M/M, ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-04
Updated: 2008-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:57:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn/pseuds/vtn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xavier and Gaspard go to Montreal, whereupon they discover that the world revolves around Xavier's ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Montreal

**Author's Note:**

> Written at the prompt of a certain Mikey Z. Who I'm not sure is on AO3 and I'm too lazy to check.

Xavier is sitting in an auditorium in Montréal with his hand on Gaspard's knee, watching models' figures strain to fill out T-shirts with his friend's designs on them and beginning to develop a keen sense of irony. Mainly, though, he just wants to go back to the bedroom and lie around, possibly get laid, definitely eat oyster crackers and pretend to be sophisticated. The temptation is just too great because he's already been part of several discussions on the relative poshness or lack thereof of Quebecois French versus Paris French.

"On a scale of one to ten, how much are you actually enjoying this?" he whispers in Gaspard's ear, resisting a sudden strong urge to lick Gaspard.

"Eight point six," Gaspard whispers back. "Most of them have no ass, unfortunately." Xavier gives Gaspard his best righteously offended look.

"We must have representation for the less-endowed of the world! Not everyone can have a perfectly sculpted backside!" he whispers harshly. "I can't believe you of all people—"

"Xavier, you are a boy, boys aren't supposed to have excess baggage," Gaspard reassures him. "I like your ass very much." The last part of that appears to have been slightly too loud, as the woman sitting next to them turns around and gives them a strange look before resuming fanning herself with a brochure. For the record, Xavier is rather distraught regarding the bursting of the French-in-North-America bubble that generally surrounds them. He then decides to take advantage of the fact that Gaspard is already hot and bothered from watching strutting models and thinking about Xavier's ass.

"Darling, come here," he says in English, trying to imitate the woman in the Soulwax remix of the Lords of Acid, which he has been listening to all week because it's kind of hilarious, "I wanna sit on your face."

"Stop that now," says Gaspard. He looks slightly serious. Well, there are some reasons why getting your friend slash boy-toy slash band-mate hot and bothered in the middle of a runway show is a bad idea, especially because Gaspard is always, in his own characteristic way, very obvious when he's hot and bothered. Evidence: the fact that he is currently shifting around in his seat and pretending to scratch his head while actually wiping sweat off his forehead—this is one of his favorite tricks. It does not fool Xavier.

"I'm sorry. I am bored." He turns back to the models. One girl tosses blonde curls over her shoulder and gives a stone-cold look to the crowd. Gaspard, on the other hand, is obviously sweating and looks genuinely interested in Xavier, who knows what he would choose any day. "Also, I want more of the oyster crackers we had earlier."

"Only because I like you," Gaspard says and slips a handful of oyster crackers into Xavier's free hand somehow. Xavier repays, while doing his best to crunch the crackers in silence, by moving his other hand farther up Gaspard's thigh. "I said stop."

"Sorry," Xavier mutters and tries his best to focus. Gaspard, who, it should be noted, is a magnificent bastard, uses this moment to kiss Xavier on the cheek.

\---

Soon enough they are out in the sunlight, blinking and simultaneously putting on big sunglasses. Xavier is suddenly inordinately pleased, so pleased that he doesn't even mind having to double-belt in a cab and with Bertrand no less, not even Gaspard, because Bertrand apparently repaid Gaspard with an offer to pay for dinner. It is excruciatingly comforting, the knowledge that he is a whore and Gaspard his pimp. However, this devilry is quick to end once they return to their hotel room and Xavier has Gaspard so worked up that he actually begs Xavier for contact of some sort.

"Stop washing your face, I need you now."

"I will get acne," Xavier protests, rinsing soap from his forehead.

"You already have acne."

"Go fuck yourself. It will get worse."

"I will go fuck myself, how about that?" Xavier looks over into the room and notices Gaspard is removing his jeans.

"For God's sake, okay!" Xavier throws down his washcloth and gets on his knees on the floor; not because he thinks Gaspard even remotely deserves this sort of attention after his truly douche-like behavior but mainly because just watching Gaspard lose control of himself is worth anything in the world.

"I didn't even—" Gaspard starts, but Xavier is already putting his mouth around Gaspard's dick and at that point there's really not anything left to be said, at least Xavier doesn't think so. Gaspard takes an embarrassingly short amount of time to finish, or, what would be embarrassingly short except that Xavier absolutely loves this, the knowledge that Gaspard is as crazy about him as he is about Gaspard.

\---

By the time they are heading out for their night on the town, Xavier has calmed down considerably, in no small part due to the fact that he took a bath, yes a bath, and then comfortably settled into the fluffy white bathrobe provided by the hotel.

"You're not wearing that out," says Gaspard, hands on his hips.

"Just for the taxi?" Xavier pleads, folding further into himself for maximum robe-to-skin contact. "Just until we walk out the door, then I'll throw it back in?"

Gaspard sighs, walks over, and removes the robe.

"Must I always lay my hands on you?" he says, exasperated. Xavier grins.

"Please."

They get a cab down to the club where they will be performing that evening and are greeted very enthusiastically upon arriving by a couple of crazy Anglophone Canadians they know all too well.

"How's my favorite Vietnamese French discofag?" Jesse asks, throwing his arm around Xavier and squeezing him tight. Xavier blinks.

"Aren't I your only Vietnamese French discofag?"

"If I had any others, I would leave them all for you." At this point Jesse's hand slides down to Xavier's waist and is well on the way to his ass.

"Why am I always being, ah, molested?" Xavier asks. Gaspard and Al-P just seem to be chatting amiably, yet Xavier is relegated to being manhandled. It never changes!

"'Cause it's so easy," says Jesse. His hand slips down those vital few inches that make it more than friendly. Xavier glances toward Gaspard, trying to communicate his slight discomfort. Al catches his eye.

"Jesse, stop feeling up our guests," he warns, stepping over and looking like he may come between Jesse and Xavier if needed. As Gaspard is just standing back and laughing quietly, Xavier feels justified in deciding Al is his knight in shining armor. He wriggles out of Jesse's grasp and goes over to hide behind Al, resting his chin on Al's shoulder.

"Oh, so it's your turn now." Jesse pouts a little but doesn't actually look particularly offended. Of course, something Xavier has learned is that Jesse shares Gaspard's perverse enjoyment in watching his own lovers spend quality time with other people. (With the company he keeps, knowing this sort of thing about someone is routine.) Xavier puts his arms around Al's waist and shuts his eyes; hugging Al, even from the back, makes up for his lack of fluffy robe. Al laughs.

"I appear to have a growth," he says. "I hope it isn't terminal."

"Oh, it's not particularly dangerous," says Xavier against the warmth of Al's back. "You should ask Gaspard. He's very familiar with having me behind him."

"Are we talking about my sex life now?" Gaspard asks.

"Yes," says Xavier, beaming. "Al, Jesse, did you also know that Gaspard is very good at—"

"No," says Gaspard, clamping his hand over Xavier's mouth and tearing him off of Al's back as if he were a bandage. Xavier feels a wave of heat wash over him and immediately shuts up. Gaspard lets go of him, but his excitement does not.

\---

"What the hell were you thinking?" says Jesse, grinning. It's nearing sunrise, based on the way the sky has gone all streaky. "I've got to say, your track selection was a little different tonight. Did you just want to shake up the Montrealites a bit?" Xavier stretches and then flops over onto the hotel bed. He hopes Gaspard will get out of the bathroom soon.

"Er, no," he says by way of explanation.

"Then what?"

"I—" At this point, insanity has almost entirely taken him over. "Gaspard, earlier, when I was about to explain how great it is when—"

"No," says Gaspard, peeking out of the bathroom door.

"What are you doing in there?" Al slurs from the spot of wall he's leaning against.

"My pants zipper is stuck."

"I was about to explain something personal about Gaspard and then he grabbed me," Xavier finishes, doing his best to ignore the interruption.

"He grabbed you? You mean like, he felt you up a little?" asks Jesse. Jesse sits down next to Xavier and musses his hair. "Ah, young love."

"No, I mean he grabbed me and then—" Xavier clamps his hand over his own mouth. "Like this," he says, muffled. He removes his hand to push Jesse's head off of his lap, where it is now lolling. "Please ask me before you sleep on me, Jesse, I sometimes enjoy to be able to use my legs."

"Oh, come on! My head's not that inflated!" Jesse sits up and crosses his arms, looking annoyed. "Do you hate me or something?" he says.

"No, Jesse, I do not hate you, I just wish you would not always treat me as your property," he says, feeling his face burn. "Anyway, what has made me go crazy is that Gaspard was willing to use force. It's good when _he_ does it, because he has my permission. But unexpected, so I liked it."

"I didn't mean to treat you as my property," Jesse apologizes, ignoring the last part of Xavier's explanation—although, Xavier notes, it has made him turn a bit red. "You're just cute, that's all. Like a little kitten that you just wanna pet all the time, yeah?"

"Do you grab kittens in the ass, Jesse?" says Xavier.

"No! Is that what this is about?"

"Maybe! Next time, why don't you wait until I have given you some sign of wanting to have my ass grabbed! Then you can grab it!" Xavier crosses and uncrosses his ankles and stares intently at his shoes. "Let it be on my own terms."

"Okay," Jesse agrees. He scratches his back. "When can I grab your ass? Can we make a date? Time and place?"

"Um," says Xavier, glancing around. Al is still against the wall. He looks asleep. Gaspard opens the bathroom door and waves to Xavier. He is wearing only boxer shorts.

"Damn, Gas, it must take a lot of work to shave that." Jesse is evidently referring to Gaspard's chest.

"No," Gaspard mutters, and turns on the television to play Nintendo, a sure sign that Jesse and Al are to be considered guests for the night. Once Gaspard is out of 'entertaining others' mode and only in 'entertaining himself', it means all his guests are welcome to partake in whatever various enjoyments around the room they choose as long as they let him stay in his zone. (The only person allowed to get Gaspard out of his zone is Xavier himself, and only then if he does it very sexily.)

"Anyhow," says Xavier. "Now, I think, would be all right."

It's usually at these sorts of points (Xavier lying half-naked on a bed with Jesse Keeler's hands all over him) where Xavier ends up not getting a lot of sleep due to…various…events.

Instead, Xavier falls asleep and wakes up with Jesse's hand still on his ass. Utterly typical.


End file.
